Today was (Almost) a Fairytale
by UnfathomableFandoms
Summary: Months before Order 66, Caleb Dume and his Master are sent to oversee negotiations on Ryloth. Caleb's inability to stay quiet may be the only thing that saves Ryloth form the Separatists once again, and earns him a friend.


**(This was inspired by Taylor Swift's "Today Was a Fairytale". HUGE, GIGANTIC SHOUTOUT thankyou to RadicalCat! She and I collaborated on this project. This never would have happened without her. She wrote most of the introduction and ending, I wrote the middle parts, and of course we edited everything together. It's on my account because it was my idea. Cover by dutifullyneroussandwich on Tumblr. I hope you like the Canera!)**

Negotiations were progressing with impressive speed. Productivity could largely be attributed to the Twi'lek delegation leader, Cham Syndulla, and the Jedi Master Representative, Depa Billaba.  
Cham's calm direction ensured that the debate was always focused on the most important factor- the best interest of the people of Ryloth.

Depa's mere presence ensured that the volume of the debate remained at a respectable level; a gentle nod here and there could defuse disagreements before they could start. Her dark eyes carefully surveyed the room, and she was mindful not to let more than a twitch of a smile show when delegates shifted and straightened their posture when under her watchful gaze.

Caleb Dume stifled a snort as Orn Free Taa himself sucked in his gut and smoothed out his embellished tunic as his Master's eyes grazed politely past him.

Depa Billaba had always had an aura of grace and civility, and it never failed to make every full grown man in the room sit up straight and respectable, like his own mother might be watching. Or maybe that was the fact that she was a member of the Jedi Council.

Negotiations were advancing, but they had been at it for much of the morning. There was talk of a Twi'lek banquet called a "Welcoming" but that would have to wait until the official business was over. Depa only had so long to spend in peace talks, her skills were much needed on the battlefield, and Caleb was sorely missing the action right now.

His finger twitched on his belt and for the fifth time this hour he pulled in a breath to ask "why" the Mid Rim Trade Federation simply seemed to be _refusing_ to ship via the Southern Ryloth Trade routes.

But a sidelong glance from his Master made sure Caleb was quick to shut his mouth.

Caleb's curiosity knew no bounds, and Depa was always in support of the pursuit of knowledge, but there was a time and a place for or endless questions, and the middle of volatile negotiations was not one of them.

Caleb had already forgotten himself and interrupted the flow of debate several times already, earning more irritated glares than answers. The Trade representative had already called for Caleb to be removed from the room. Citing that children- Jedi or not- had nothing to offer when it came to business. Depa had responded quickly and kindly that the children of the Galaxy would never learn to offer insight, if they weren't given the opportunities to do so.

Caleb had been allowed to stay, by his Master's side as was his will, but only if he could control his need to interrupt. So he tasked himself his biggest challenge: being patient and listening; without interruption.

The delegate for Luran slammed his fist down on the center stone table with a heavy thump. "This is robbery!" His accent was a little heavier than the other Twi'leks in the room, and his Basic often came with a lilt like his tongue was stuck between his teeth.

"To propose to charge such prices? My people do not have mineral mines to line our pockets. You cannot expect my region to pay the same amount when our need for support is greater! We are farmers- we breed livestock as our livelihood. When our suppliers are thin, so is our profit. When our profit is thin, so is food for Ryloth. If the Separatists would-"

"We will not be bringing the Separatists into our peaceful delegations." Depa calmly reprimanded the representative, and Caleb bit his tongue. These delegations were hardly peaceful when the senators would start yelling every five minutes. It was getting hard for even Depa to keep them calm.

The Trade Federation representative chuffed in dissatisfaction. "The costs of service already near out-weigh our returns and borders the base cost of delivery. Do you expect us to burn our fuel for free?"

"Our work costs my people time and resources, as much as yours. Without fresh supplies, our livestock suffers. We are already scraping to survive!" Caleb could hear the true desperation in the Twi'lek's voice but his argument was unwavering, and he pointed a red finger accusingly at the tradesmen. "My region is not alone- you over charge _all_ our people."

"Representative Alam," Cham cut in firmly, leaning his firm chin toward the floor and giving the Luran Twi'lek a pointed look over his folded hands. "I respectfully ask that you stay on point."

The delegate pulled his shoulders back, but withdrew his hand.

The Trade rep's expression was distasteful, and he smiled thinly. "The Federation has already been very generous. I am afraid we cannot afford to negotiate our prices any further. The budget has already been agreed upon."

The red Luran Twi'lek turned to the Lead Negotiator. "Cham, be reasonable-"

"He is being reasonable." Answered another Trade rep firmly. "If you are willing to pay the excess in fuel-"

"Then why don't you use the Southern Trade routes?" Caleb demanded; his frustration with the Trade reps over boiling. "You have established shipping connections in that area, all you are doing is charging twice for what you ship once!"

The hall was quiet for a heartbeat, and Caleb glanced to his side to see his Master shaking her head sadly, and he felt the drive in him evaporate. He looked to the Twi'lek leader and-no, he was not happy either, though he seemed to be taking his suggestion into consideration- like an animal dropping its food bowl before its master. Caleb knew it would mean nothing when it trickled down to the point.

 _Oh kriff it_ , Caleb hung his head, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

"I was not aware that shipping and cargo freight was on the Padawan syllabus." said one Trade rep, earning a soft snigger from another, who had gone through several glasses of the fine wine on the table. "Perhaps we can agree that this meeting's time can be better spent hearing from speakers other than a Jedi _Youngling_."

Caleb narrowed his eyes but held his tongue.

"I agree," Said Depa Billaba.

Caleb snapped his head up to look his Master in the eye, her expression was passive and her eyes unreadable, but Caleb saw the very slight tilt to the corners of her mouth. He had disappointed her. And then, the worst happened.

She tilted her chin very slightly to floor and nodded. "Padawan, please wait for me outside. I will seek you out when negotiations are complete."

Caleb swallowed hard, and fighting the urge to run away in embarrassment- he stood up slowly clasped his hands and nodded respectfully towards first the Trade representative, and then Cham. He tried not to scowl, schooling his features.

"I apologize for speaking out of turn." he said firmly, and honestly. Cham returned his nod with a slight one of his own while the Trade rep smiled smugly.

Then Caleb turned and walked briskly towards the doors where the Twi'lek guards pulled the wide stone doors open and allowed him to exit.

The door shut with a stony echo in the empty hallway.  
Caleb frowned, folding his arms and pressing his back against the closed door. He tucked his chin in his chest and scowled at the floor, fisting his hands in his sleeves.

"Did you get kicked out too?"

Caleb looked up sharply and was confronted with the presence of a skinny green Twi'lek girl wearing a plain brown dress, with what looked like oil stains on the sleeves. She clearly would rather be wearing more sensible garb.

The first thing he noticed was her voice. It didn't carry the same tongue-on-teeth lilt many of the other Twi'lek's did. She was clearly well versed in basic, and spoke in a smooth almost melodic sort of way. He immediately wondered if she spent much time off world, perhaps she studied abroad- maybe she wasn't native to Ryloth.

Instead he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm a pilot." she answered shortly, as if this answered everything.

Caleb couldn't help the snort. "But you're what? Eleven?"

She rounded on him, hands balled on her straight hips, and Caleb felt a true flash of fear unlike any he'd ever experienced on the battlefront.

"And you-" she snapped, jabbing her finger hard into Caleb's chest. "Are a _dwafnut_."

Caleb jerked away, half surprised by the verbal attack and half wondering where the girl had picked up Neimoidian insults. He rubbed at the sore spot on his chest with a wince, and put up a hand in apology. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean anything by it. Its just- well, you _are_ eleven, right?"

The girl hurumpfe'd and folded her thin arms over her dress and gave him a hard eye, scrutinizing the braid behind his ear and the heavy robes that were too hot for the weather. The girl looked unimpressed and put a fist on one flat hip and looked him up and down.

"I thought _Jedi_ were supposed to be smart. Don't they teach manners at the Temple?"

Caleb felt his mouth twist in amusement. This girl sure didn't pull any punches. "Sometimes. If there's time between slicing droids and saving the Galaxy."

The arch of her eyes narrowed and Caleb sensed she was not amused.  
"I'm only a Padawan though." he answered quickly. He put a hand on his belt and subtly flashed his lightsaber, his pride and joy. "And a good one when I'm not being kicked out of meetings."

He saw her green eyes flash, and for a moment she just stared him down and Caleb thought she was going to snap again. "Well that explains it. Maybe the Jedi _are smarter than you look._ Did the Tradesmen boot you out too?" She asked warily.

Caleb was surprised, but immediately felt sheepish for his earlier impertinence and found he was unwilling to outright admit to the girl. A hand snaked its way through his hair awkwardly. "Well, I suppose you could say, we, _disagreed_ on some areas of discussion." Caleb answered diplomatically.

Her gaze sharpened further and now she turned to face him straight on. "What areas?" she pushed.

Caleb nodded his head to the side, and he considered telling her it was confidential information, but something in her face made him want him to speak his mind. Maybe he wouldn't be shut down for once. "That the Federation are trying to rob Ryloth blind."

Her eyes widened, and Caleb immediately regretted his candor.  
But then, her mouth pulled up in the corners and Caleb felt something in his chest tighten as a bright and happy sound bubbled out of her mouth. Her hands flew up to cover her giggles and she gave him a proper smile. "No kidding! It's hard to find work- or food around here." Maybe that would explain her thin frame. She thrust out a small green hand. "My name is Hera. And I'm still in training too. My father is teaching me, but I _will_ be a pilot someday. The greatest!"

While the Jedi usually preferred to bow in respect, her waiting hand and glinting green eyes made Caleb think she wouldn't take it that way. He took her small hand firmly in his own and shook it. Her grip was strong, surprisingly so for a girl so skinny. "I'm Caleb Dume.", he said, keeping his tone level and steady. But he couldn't help adding, "And I _will_ be a Jedi Knight soon enough. The greatest! _When_ I'm ready." Caleb's mouth twisted as he teased her.

Hera flicked one stubby lekku over her shoulder, scoffing in faux dismissal. "I'm sure of it. You're what? _Eleven?"_ Hera's mouth had a sly tilt to it. Caleb scowled at his own words turned against him.

Caleb was short, but he certainly didn't look eleven.

"Fourteen." he corrected her, carefully trying not to sound insulted. "And age doesn't equal skill." He crouched in a mock defensive position, his lightsaber remaining unlit.

Hera's eyes were drawn down and she reached out her hand. "Can I look at that? I've always wanted to see how they work."

Caleb straightened, lowering his deactivated lightsaber warily. If he handed it over, she could steal it or damage it or hurt herself or other people. Didn't Master Billaba always say to have his lightsaber on him at all times? To never lose it?

Hera's green eyes sparkled, and Caleb found himself handing it over before he could ask "why?" for the umpteenth time in his life.

Caleb took off the upper layer of his robes, laying it on the dusty ground for them to sit on as Hera carefully handled his lightsaber, tilting it in different directions and separating the two parts. She finally looked up at him, her eyes bright with awe, and asked, "Can I turn it on? How does the light stay in one line? It's some fancy crystal and a power cell, right?"

Caleb nodded, a little blown away to have the questions fired at him for once. "Yeah. The Kyber Crystal channels the Force, the power cell unit is- Wait! Don't turn it-"

The bright blue blade burst from the handle, glowing oddly off of Hera's green skin. It hummed inches from her face, but she didn't seem to be afraid, even when the heat must have been singing her skin. She swung it, and Caleb jumped back before he could be impaled by his own lightsaber.

"Whoah!"

"Put it down! You'll chop your lekku off!" Caleb reached for the lightsaber hilt, and she stepped away.

"Come on Caleb, don't you trust me?" Hera grinned mischievously, as if she were teasing him and turned her body away from him and gave the energy blade another soft swing. It hummed contently as it sailed through the air.

Caleb's fingers twitched in agitation. "Ok, you've seen enough now." he said, as if speaking to an angry Wampa. "Now, hand it over. Before my Master sees too." Caleb did not need another strike against him today. He reached for it again, but she danced out of his reach.

She glanced over her shoulder and a glint in her eyes made him worry.  
"Come get it." She dared, and Hera sprinted away down the corridor.

Caleb cursed. She would get them both killed. He was supposed to stay here and wait for Master Billaba to finish the meeting.

He had to get that saber back.

Caleb hastily put his robe back on and ran after her, following the bobbing blue light.

Hera was lithe and fast, dodging around corners and other Twi'leks littered through the stone halls with ease. Caleb's training had made him in equally good shape, and he had easily twenty pounds of muscle more than she did, but she was still proving to be an elusive prey. She slipped down an alley almost twenty feet away.

But Caleb also had the Force. He quickly did the math and darted to his right, slipping through a vacant laneway, and vaulted through an open window. He landed on his feet in an empty courtyard, and the girl appeared around the corner and almost ran straight into him.  
She yelped with surprise, but before Caleb could reach out and snag her sleeve, she dodged his hand and bolted across the courtyard towards the outer rock walls. Caleb cursed and pushed off after her.

Hera had deactivated his lightsaber and was scurrying up the steep pile of rocks, but she was slower at it than he was and Caleb knew he had her.

She made it to the crest of the hill seconds before he did, Caleb reached out and with with one hard yank, he pulled her towards him with the Force, squirming and shrieking. She pounded on his chest, slapped his face and landed a well-placed kick to his groin. Hera squirmed free. Caleb folded over; groaning an octave higher than normal, but his hand latched around the lightsaber barrel and he pulled it free.

Caleb caught his breath and slowly stood up, attaching his lightsaber to his belt and turned to gloat.

"Ha! I wi-" Hera wasn't facing him; she wasn't pouting in defeat or, more likely, smirking at her well-placed kicks. She was staring down the hill, deathly still. Her skin had gone an unnatural greyish green, like the colour of dying grass. Caleb leaned over her shoulder.

"Caleb, what do you see?" Hera's voice held firm, though she was clearly terrified.

Hundreds of battle droids, lined up in rows and holding blasters. Behind them, a Separatist ship was landed, and flowing out were more battle droids, and behind them marching through the ranks was General Grievous, his white plating catching the light. From faraway, he was hardly more than a white speck, but Caleb had heard the horror stories. Even Master Obi-Wan Kenobi hadn't been able to successfully beat him.

Caleb swallowed. The battle droids weren't a problem. To a Jedi, they were hardly more than annoying insects. He had run his lightsaber through enough of them to know exactly where their control panels were located.

But General Grievous had beaten Jedi before, and he had an impressive collection of stolen lightsabers to prove it.

How did they know? Did they track us here? Do they have a spy? They could have been listening to the negotiations! Grievous could call for backup and this entire planet could be Twi'lek flavored space dust! Caleb's mind was running a thousand parsecs a second.

But Caleb couldn't tell Hera that. He cleared his throat. "I see a bunch of battle droids getting ready to be beaten." His weak attempt at optimism failed, and his voice cracked.

Caleb pushed Hera down to the ground. If Grievous saw them, Caleb would just be one more lightsaber added to his collection.

"There goes my good day. And I was just starting to think I had made a friend!" Hera grumbled, pressing herself lower to the ground.

"Hera, go tell everyone to go home and _stay inside._ I'll find Master Billaba. Don't try to fight. Stay inside with the others."

"But-"

"Hera. This is a battleground now."

Hera scowled. "Roger roger, _Captain."_ she grit out, clenching her fists. Behind her anger, something like a plan glimmered behind her eyes. Caleb hoped it wasn't stupid enough to act out. With a final glare at Caleb, she turned around and carefully scooted backwards down the rock wall.

Caleb watched her scramble down the rock wall and back to level flooring. She lept to her feet and began a sprint back down the walkways.

Caleb glanced carefully over the rock lip again, taking notes of numbers, formations, and the blaster grade. All information that would help his Master develop a battle strategy. He swallowed hard on sight of Grievous marching directly through the swarm of droids

Caleb's eye was drawn to an outcrop along the rock where he could see four B1 battle droids were attempting to set up a turret gun and there were more pieces being passed through the ranks below.

Caleb, very carefully began to edge his way along the wall, mindful not to knock a single pebble out of place that might alert the army below. Moving slowly, both toward the forming turret gun, and putting as much distance between himself and the General as possible. His hand ghosted at the hilt of his lightsaber.

Caleb found a notch between two larger rocks and wedged himself between them, watching the sun glint off the white armor from afar.

There was no chance of Caleb even considering acting foolish enough to try and draw Grievous' attention. He had heard stories of past Padawans taking on the cyborg General in a desperate act in hopes of stopping his inevitable escape or, often a foolhardy attempt to protect their Masters.

Caleb wondered if, in the heat of battle, he might make such a cockeyed decision if it came down to Master Billaba's life or his own. Caleb shook his head, forcing the imagery away, but he could not help the nagging worry that even his brilliant Master wasn't enough to take on the Separatist General on her own. Hadn't Master Obi wan and Master Skywalker failed to bring the cyborg in several times?

If only more of the Council members had come, perhaps they might stand a chance. It was probably too late for reinforcements, and the Republic fleet would only alert the Separatists that they were preparing for battle as well. Caleb couldn't be sure that they would send anyone anyway; with the war spreading its deadly path through every star system, the Council would be busy. One skirmish and two dead Jedi wouldn't mean much to anyone other than Mace Windu, the old Master of his Master.

"What I'd give to have Master Windu here with me." Caleb muttered, tightening his hold on his saber.

"I often share the sentiment."

Caleb jolted and turned sharply as his Master Depa Billaba appeared in a crouch beside him, her robe settling around her with an aura of grace even kneeling in dust and rocks. Cham Syndulla was on her right, blaster drawn and his jaw set in a hard line.

"Master!" Caleb only let himself shout in a whisper, feeling the smile of relief spread across his face. He couldn't believe that he hadn't sensed her coming. Perhaps his racing mind was too distracting.

Her dark eyes darted from end to end of the battlefield and then to Caleb. She smiled softly at him out the corner of her mouth, But Caleb could see strategy and tactician flashing in her eyes.  
Caleb pushed away his relief. The battle had not even begun yet, but he felt far more prepared with Master Billaba and Rebellion Leader Cham Syndulla here to lead the front. His face grew serious and flat, but his voice was heavy with tension.  
"What will we do, Master? _General Grievous_ is here!"

"I see him, Padawan." Depa answered serenely, seriously, her eyebrows pinched together in deep thought. Her eyes tracked the cyborg General marching through the droid ranks towards the back of the battalion.

"It is strange that he has not yet ordered an attack. We had no Intel that spoke of an oncoming Separatist movement." She remarked thoughtfully. She pulled a pair of binoculars out of her robes and she scanned the army below.

"Perhaps he is waiting for reinforcements." Cham suggested in a hard voice, cocking his blaster.

"Or maybe they had a spy," Caleb suggested. Cham ignored him, and Depa sent him a scolding glance. _Not with Cham here, my young strategist._

Depa frowned, squinting into her binoculars. "I'll comm the Clones. Cham, gather some of your men. We'll use the higher ground to our advantage. Spread your men along this hill, and be discreet. Do not attack until I give the signal."

Cham nodded and pulled out his own comm, slipping away to speak into it in hushed tones.

"Caleb," his Master's calm voice called out. Caleb jerked his eyes upwards, peeling them away from the sight of the gathering army. "You and I will charge down this hill with the Clones. I will engage Grievous. Cover me, but do not attack Grievous at any cost. Remember Padawan, there is no death. There is only the Force."

Caleb frowned. He knew there was a large chance that Master Billaba could be hurt- or possibly killed. He wasn't sure he could accept it, or watch as she fell.

She must have sensed his uncertainty, because her stern brown eyes flicked to meet his. "Padawan?"

Caleb let out a thin breath through his nose, but nodded. "Yes, Master."

Caleb wasn't sure he meant it.

Depa nodded and stood, retrieving her comm.

"Captain Styles, come in."

"Yes Sir." Styles' deep voice crackled through the comm, a wavering blue hologram of the Clone appearing. "What is the problem?"

Depa smiled at Caleb. "Separatist forces have been spotted. I'll send you the coordinates, meet me there and await orders."

"Yes Sir. Receiving coordinates. Captain Styles out." Styles saluted, and the blue hologram disappeared.

* * *

Caleb rammed the pommel of his lightsaber into the head of another droid, not waiting to watch as it crumpled to the ground.

Blaster fire zoomed past him, barely missing his Padawan Braid. He swung his lightsaber up to deflect shots. The valley was swarming with droids, Clones, and Twi'lek snipers rained fire from above while their cavalry fought beside the Clones. Caleb's feet slipped on a mixture or motor oil and blood. He was glad Hera wasn't here for this. Caleb hoped she would stay away.

Caleb took a moment to look behind him, where between blaster fire and Clones, droids, and Twi'lek troops, he could glimpse his Master in lightsaber combat with General Grievous.

The Force hummed, and Caleb ducked, slinging his lightsaber behind him.

"Hey! That was my arm! You'll pay for that, Jedi-" The droid's nasally, robotic voice was cut off as Caleb thrust his lightsaber through its metallic chassis. It fell to the ground, its back smoking and sparking. An warning pull from the Force spun Caleb around.

Caleb turned again. Grievous' arms had split into four, each with a lightsaber. All he could see of his Master was her robe spread out on the ground beneath her, and her forearms holding her light blade pressed against Grievous's four. She was holding, but Grievous doubled his efforts- pushing back against the Jedi with monstrous strength.

Caleb knew he shouldn't interfere. Caleb knew he was neglecting her orders- his own common sense.

Caleb had known all along he wouldn't care.

Caleb ran.

His feet crunched on severed limbs of droids, a CT Trooper helmet lay on the ground. Caleb silently thanked whoever it had been for his service. He kept running, deflecting bolts and pushing through the crowds of droids and Twi'lek.

"Styles! Styles!" Caleb screamed through his labored breath, his voice hoarse.

"Yes Sir?" Styles' familiar voice yelled over the cacophony.

"Cover me! I'm going to help Master Billaba!"

"Sir with all due respect-"

Caleb kept running before he could hear the rest of it.

Caleb was almost there. He was coming up to the side of Grievous. Master Billaba was struggling to keep his blades back, the blue and green light playing off her strained features and glimmering in her determined eyes.

 _Hold on. I'm almost there!_

Caleb thrust one hand out, sending five droids flying behind him, a high-pitched wail escaping them.

Burning, searing pain exploded into Caleb's right shoulder. Caleb deactivated his lightsaber before he could impale himself on it, stumbling and rolling. His shoulder hit the ground where his robe was smoking, and Caleb grunted, spitting out dust.

Loud, hacking laughter sounded behind him as he stood and dusted himself off. He reactivated his lightsaber, holding it unsteadily in his non-dominant hand. He still hadn't mastered double wielding, and his left arm was weaker. Caleb breathed heavily, winded from his sprint through the battlefield.

"A Padawan and a Master! Grievous' guttural voice purred in content. "Two lightsabers to add to my collection!"

"Padawan! I told you not to interfere!" Billaba glanced up from her place on the ground, still fending off Grievous' lightsabers. He could not let his Master die. Caleb pushed to his feet with some help from the Force and swung his blade.

Grievous cackled and parried his blow with a green lightsaber. He spun his blade, twisting Caleb's wrist, nearly making him drop his saber. Caleb thrust his blade forward, aiming for one of Grievous's hands. Grievous blocked with a blue saber.

Caleb's plan was working. Grievous was distracted, toying with him. Depa only had two blades against her, and Grievous's pressure on the blades was going slack.

But Caleb was a Padawan, and he had Grievous's attention.

Grievous had his blade locked between his blue and green ones, forming an 'X' with Caleb's blade aimed at Grievous' glowing yellow eyes. Caleb leaned in, and his blade inched forward. He jerked his saber free, barely scorching Grievous' face plating. Caleb was breathing heavily, and his shoulder ached.

"You cannot win, child!" Grievous swung his blades and Caleb rolled, coming up to a kneel. He swung at Grievous' shin, and he staggered and let out a low grunt. His blade swung low again, and Caleb sprang to his feet before it could cut his head off.

"Impressive, but you will die with your Master!" Grievous' laughter was barely heard over the burning voice of the blade sailing above his head, searing his scalp. The General swung again, and Caleb tried to parry. His lightsaber was sent skidding to the dusty ground, landing next to the still body of a Twi'lek. Grievous whirled on him again, and Caleb landed unceremoniously on his rump.

Grievous' arm shot out, and picked him up by the throat, his metal hand digging into his Adam's apple. The vice tightened, and he could feel the fragile bones in his throat pressing together. His mouth hung open uselessly as he tried to suck in air.

Caleb heard his Master Billaba gasp and call out his name. "Caleb!"

Then she screamed and swung her saber free with a brilliant wave of light and unprecedented fervor, sending Grievous' blades flying. They deactivated when they hit the ground.

Grievous let out a howl, tossing Caleb aside to the ground like broken droid parts.

Air flushed into his lungs, carrying the scent of blood and burning metal. His neck hurt and his shoulder burned. Caleb wanted to just lie on the ground, to sleep and never have to fight again, but his Master would need help. Caleb forced himself onto his knees, flinging a hand out to retrieve his saber and calling to the Force for aid. The familiar metal hilt was soon in his hand, and Caleb staggered to his feet.

Master Billaba was swinging, parrying, dodging and jabbing left and right. She rolled gracefully, slicing her saber through Grievous' knees and springing back to her feet. Grievous staggered, the metal plating shearing from his legs. He dropped onto his four arms, crawling forward with lightsabers still oscillating from two arms on his back. Caleb shivered. He was vulnerable, but somehow more intimidating now as the vaguely humanoid costume the cyborg wore, was reformed into something more sinister and dehumanized.

Caleb flung his hand out, pushing Grievous away from his Master with an almighty shove. Grievous slid on all fours only a few feet back, a rumbling growl coming from deep in the cyborg's throat.

Caleb tightened his hold on his saber, but did not move his eye off Grievous. The cyborg's sickly eyes shot between Master and Padawan as he formed a decision.

"Padawan!" Billaba shouted, eyes wide and furious. "Run!"

"Master-" Caleb answered, but his words were cut short as Grievous flung himself towards the Jedi.  
The cyborg leapt into the air, his remaining lightsaber raised and pointed down at Depa's chest. The Jedi lifted her own saber, but Caleb could see she didn't have time to pull herself to her feet. She wouldn't be able to parry against the cyborg's strength. Not at this speed, not after such a tiresome battle.

Caleb felt his heart constrict, and true cold fear entered his bones. He reached out a hand, knowing he was already a microsecond too late to act-

Blue blaster fire hit Grievous hard in the chest plate, followed immediately by several more rounds. The blaster shots knocked the General off course and he landed several feet away from the Jedi Master, metallic limbs spinning and flailing to right themselves as he roared in fury.

Commander Grey appeared over a ridge in the battlefield, blaster raised, and he was followed by four more clones and Captain Styles. They continued to rain blaster fire on the cyborg.

Grievous spun his lightsaber like a windmill, deflecting the unrelenting fire as best he could. He inched backwards on spider like legs, howling in cold rage.

"Got you covered, Master Jedi!" Styles shouted over the din.

"Not a moment too soon, Captain." Commander Grey replied.

Depa was on her feet and at Caleb's side in half a beat, pulling him by his sleeve behind her and keeping up pace with the Clone Troopers and flanking Grievous from both sides. His shoulder still burned, but his feet felt light as he scrambled to keep up with his Master. He deflected a shot Grievous had sent his way, and redirected into the open air.

The mechanical monster scuttled backwards, over the carpet of fallen droids. "You are all fools!" he bellowed between blaster shots. "You cannot defeat me!" His limbs shifted into a deformed, broken humanoid shape again, and he staggered as he ran.

"Shut it down, you 'borg." Snapped Styles, pinning a shot at a joint on one of his legs. The Cyborg roared as one side of his body tipped and he went falling down an incline on the rockbed.

"Quick!" Depa shouted, leaping after Grievous, unwaveringly followed by Caleb and the Clones still pelting Grievous with blaster fire. "Do not let him escape!"

But the cyborg sensed his oncoming failure, the battle had been tipped past the point of no return. One glance across the battlefield strewn with metal bodies proved that.

Dodging the laser pellets raining down on top of him, Grievous shot one last smoldering look in the direction of the Jedi. He keyed a combination of buttons on his gauntlet. Then he shot into the air, and scuttled over the transport roof, hiding inside.

"No!" shouted Caleb, both in frustration and panic, watching the transport rise and begin a speedy retreat.

Before the Clones or Jedi could move to follow- a heavy humm filled the air as eight full armored Vulture droids dropped out of the sky.

The Vulture droids circled the group before landing on pointed feet, all sixteen blaster barrels locked on the group. The Clones refocused their aim- but they all knew they were severely out gunned.

Depa stepped in front of him, but Caleb activated his lightsaber with her and held it aloft.  
"Master-" Caleb began.  
They could hear the blasters warming up, it was seconds before they would be riddled through with fiery holes.

"Sir?" The Clones asked, turning to Depa for orders.

"Master?" Caleb said, mirroring the Clones' worry.

"Everyone," Depa answered, her voice suddenly calm. "Duck."

As the words left her lips, Caleb heard engines screaming overhead. He threw his arms up around his head and threw himself flat to the ground with his Master the Clones following suit, lifting their arms to protect their visors.

Blaster fire rained down from a hexagonal Light Freighter as it swooped lower, tilting and righting itself unsteadily. Heat and debris exploded around them, and the Vulture droids all let out a chorus of mechanical cries. Dust and metal pieces rained down on top of them and smoke filled the air.

Caleb looked up to see the Vulture droids riddled with smoking holes. They wobbled unsteadily on their legs, groaning, before collapsing onto their sides, and deactivating.

Caleb jumped to his feet, coughing on dirt and smoke, turning on the spot, trying to pin his eye on the freighter as it swooped gracefully through the low cloud cover. The ship's nose turned to face him, and Caleb was both surprised, and not at all, to pick out a thin green figure through the tinted window.

Hera waved to him from the cockpit. Caleb felt himself smiling and he lifted his uninjured arm to return the gesture.

* * *

"You did well, Padawan." Depa laid a hand on Caleb's left shoulder. She had inspected his injured one, and had

announced that he would need a medic. Cham had promised that he had a medic on hand that could treat the wound.

"But Master- Grievous got away!" Caleb answered shortly.

She smiled thinly, "Yes. And so did we my young, disobedient, Padawan. And for that I thank the Force."

"Yeah kid, you did good. I thought you were gonna die for a few seconds, but you did good." Styles ruffled his hair. Caleb frowned playfully, shoving him away and fixing his locks.

"Thank you, Jedi. Without you, we risked having lost Ryloth to the Separatists once again." Cham laid a hand flat against his breast and bowed his head in respect.

The battle had been won, but not without loss. Many of Cham's Twi'lek guard had fallen in the fray, and Commander Grey had lost five Clones to the droids' overwhelming numbers.

But, while the loss of the peers was mourned, the leaders of Ryloth were celebrating the short victory. Things could have been so much worse. Caleb stood beside his Master, back in the central halls.

The Welcoming was well under way, and the negotiations had been put on hold till the morning, when the high of victory and survival had worn away. But in light of the Separatist failed attack- the Mid Rim Trade federation was whispered to be willing to revisit the terms of their trade agreements.

The Welcoming was now a true celebration of Ryloth's customs, a proud surviving heritage, and one that seemed to call for a surprising amount of liquor.

His shoulder had been patched, and he was told he would suffer no more than mild discomfort for a few weeks while the wound healed.

He rolled his shoulder subtly, internally wondering if the throbbing ache in his shoulder was only _mild_ \- then he had no wish to repeat the episode.

Depa Billaba returned Cham's respectful bow, with one of her own "You are most welcome. It is the honor of the Republic to serve those in need."

"It seems it is a fortunate thing, Jedi Master Billaba," Cham continued, now eyeing Caleb with a soft smile, "That your Padawan should find trouble sitting quiet during meetings. Or we might not have had the forewarning to act in time. "

Caleb shifted his feet in surprise, but kept his face neutral at the praise. He put his knuckles together at his front and nodded his head respectfully to the Twi'lek.  
"I only did my duty, sir. As my Master has taught me."

Depa smiled serenely, and Cham nodded thoughtfully at the boy.

"Then she has taught you well, Padawan Dume."

Caleb dropped his hands, but was surprised as a small smooth hand was suddenly knotted around his fingers.  
Caleb jolted in surprise, staring at Hera who had appeared beside him- _How_ did she keep sneaking up on him like that? She was holding his hand in a confidant firm grip and grinning. Her dress was slightly nicer this time, if only less oil-stained.

Caleb immediately felt his cheeks start to burn, and his whole body grew tense as he saw Cham's eye slip down to the green hand gripping tightly onto his own. His prominent brow lifted wryly. Caleb wondered if he should pull his hand free. "I, uh-"

"Father," Hera spoke, her tone suddenly respectful and smoother than silk. "If you are done thanking him, I would very much like to take Caleb to see my ship. May I take him to the hanger? I'd like to show him that I fly straighter than I shoot."

Caleb felt his eyes widen and looked to Cham in shock. _Cham Syndulla_ was Hera's father? No _wonder_ she was a spitfire. Caleb felt his eyes dart to his Master to gauge her reaction to Hera's sudden display of affection.

His Master's expression was softly amused, and her mouth pursed in a firm line that Caleb recognized as a withheld smile. The heat in his cheeks spread up into his ears.

"Sir- We- Uh-"

"Very well." Cham answered carefully. "If the Jedi Padawan is prepared to fight droids to protect my precious Ryloth, I see no harm in leaving my daughter in his guard. But I must ask you, Master Jedi," Cham said tilting his eyes toward Depa. "Are you comfortable sending your Padawan to the skies in the hands of an _amateur_ ace pilot?"

Hera gasped, insulted and embarrassed. "Dad!"

Depa smiled wryly. "I don't know, Cham. She was quite steady at the helm of that ship, I feel that he will be in safe hands. My Padawan even might learn a thing or two." Depa nodded, and Hera began dragging Caleb by the wrist.

"And Caleb," Depa called out from behind him. Hera paused, and Caleb turned.

"I hear they may agree to use the Southern Trade routes. Now run along. I expect for you to be able to fly straight when she's done with you." Depa's eyes flashed with silent laughter. "Return by 20:00 for the battle report with the Jedi Council."

Caleb tried not to smile as Hera laughed, kissing his burning cheek and dragging him away through the crowd of Twi'leks.


End file.
